Everyone has my number,
But none of them know me.
They think I should want something.
It’s nothing I could use or admire.
I no longer want many things.
I have plenty of things.
I don’t want what they’re selling,
They push themselves to do this
Around a few bucks an hour plus commission.
It may pay more than fast food or retail
But the relentless assault,
The commercial on a phone line
Wears my patience and compassion.
Car service plans,
Credit card loans.
Time to put the phone down
And walk away to the woods.
No cell phone connection,
Only the sounds of drifting leaves
And migrating birds.
Time to recharge my soul
Without another onslaught
Of requests for my money.
© 2017 Valerie Hathaway